


twistings and turnings

by inkandstone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, F/M, Happy ending???, Harry: HOLY SHIT IM A WIZARD, Harry: SHIT IM A WIZARD, Hermione: IM GOING TO BECOME A LAWYER, Internalized Arophobia, JKR is a Coward, M/M, Original Aromantic Character - Freeform, Tabloids, The Daily Prophet is The tabloids change my mind, Triwizard Tournament, Viktor: fukcing superb, What-If?, Wizard Politics, bc clout idk, can this guy cATCH A BREAK, giving characters more depth, i will die defending Ronald Billius Weasley, its what god would've wanted, see i looked inside of myself and thought 'would the government allow this' and i thought 'yes', well hello introspection, wow look!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandstone/pseuds/inkandstone
Summary: What if the Triwizard Tournament happened in their first year?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Fleur Delacour & Viktor Krum & Original Female Character, Harry Potter & Hogwarts, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Viktor Krum
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

What if the Triwizard Tournament happened in their first year? 

Young Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, gazing around the world in awe along with the Muggleborns. Meanwhile, the experienced such as freckled Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom gaped when it was announced that the Triwizard Tournament would be hosted at Hogwarts this year.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, as the headmaster explained; Hermione, on the other hand, rolled her eyes upon hearing people complain about the age limit and Quidditch being canceled. "I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks or impersonates into making them Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore said with a knowing look in his eyes. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall missed the bit where Professor Quirrell resigned due to an illness, very sad, but Professor Moody would take over as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

These children are all eager with magic running through their veins. They had courage and ambition burning, loyalty and wit singing in their veins. These new students, some awful in the sense only children can be and others who inspire others, would jump at any chance to prove themselves of something. Others would sit back and watch with interest. The important thing about this story is deciding who will leap and who will sit back and observe. 

Beauxbatons and Durmstrang came. Oliver Wood nearly fainted when Viktor Krum nodded to him in the hallways, and nearly everyone sighed as Fleur DeLacour swept by. (Let us say, for the sake of magic and wondering and stories, that they were old enough to compete. It is important they are the same here.) Still, school continued on in Hogwarts. First years got lost getting to classes, Potions caused everyone to curse Snape's name, and Charms annoyed Ron. "She's a nightmare, honestly," he hissed and felt guilt when Hermione hurried past him with tears in her eyes.

This was on Halloween. The same night the names would be draw from the Goblet of Fire. Nearly everyone was in the Great Hall; Hermione Granger, according to Lavender Brown, was too busy crying her eyes out in the bathroom. She had just stepped out of the stall, mopping her eyes with toilet paper when she spotted the troll. She hadn't been in the Great Hall when Moody burst in, shouting about a troll in the dungeons.

Harry had grown up being told _no, you can't come with us to the banquet party don't be ridiculous_ and _who would want to see a pathetic boy at a birthday party with that awful hair._ Sometimes it was _you didn't pull enough weeds now my marigolds are ruined, shut up, into the cupboard!_ "It's not right if she misses this," he said firmly when Ron protested. Finally, they slipped away from the rest of the Gryffindors while Moody slipped away to get to the Philosophers Stone; Snape slipped away as well as soon as his students were safe in the Hufflepuff's common room.

We all know how it ended. Hermione screamed, Harry jabbed his wand up a troll's nose, and Ron casted _Wingardium Leviosa_ perfectly. Harry saw Snape's injured leg and turned to his new friends. 

Madame Maxime fumed, telling Dumbledore that something like this should never happen again. Karkarrof joked that Hogwarts was just preparing their students for a war. They picked out the names the next night, and it ended exactly how we thought. Only this time, a sixth year from Hufflepuff-Francesca Leroy-was chosen instead of Cedric Diggory. He was only in his third year and clapped along when Francesca's name was called.

(Remember-the important thing about this story is who inspires others. Francesca is in Cedric's spot now and she too will leave behind ripples.)

Harry's name is called and the treacle tart turns to ash in his mouth. He swallowed, stood, and walked over to Dumbledore who stared down in disbelief. Everyone stared in disbelief (and outrage and envy and suspicion) while Harry wished for the ground to swallow him up. In the small room, this is what the other Champions saw: a skinny, bespectacled boy with unruly hair, clutching a piece of paper and in shock. This is what the teachers saw: Harry Potter, Gryffindor, Lily and James’s kid, a mini-Marauder with green eyes of an unforgettable woman. This is what Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman saw: the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One.

Let me repeat: the other champions saw a scared-looking boy. Just Harry. While Moody waxed conspiracy theories, while the teachers tried to tell Crouch that Harry was too young and Karkarrof threatened to leave, while Bagman thought about gold, Fleur looked at Harry and saw her sister in him: a too young kid who should always hold her hand when crossing the street and had to be supervised. The world was bitter and cold, and sometimes glitter and soft hands didn't make it better. But Fleur, with her hands moisturized from _La-Roche Posay,_ would be damned if Gabrielle didn't see pretty sunsets. 

_"Non,"_ she said and her voice ringed. "No. This boy will not participate."

"Of course he won't," Mr. Crouch began. "But, we must follow the rules, and those rules state that whoever's names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament-"

"Harry is only in his first year!" Professor McGonnagol nearly shouted. "A boy! This is ridiculous! Surely, the magical contract can be put aside!"

Fleur squared her soldiers, felt the prickle of claws pushing past her nails, and declared,"If he participates, then I will not participate. That is final." She left the room with her headmistress following behind; she left behind a ripple. In the end, because magic is magic Harry was officially a Triwizard Champion. Shouts erupted while a first year and a sixth year left for their common rooms. 

"Are you alright?" Francesca asked Harry. She was one of the eldest amongst a dozen of younger cousins in Belgium, and knew that was the most important question to ever ask.

"Er-Yeah, I'm fine," Harry answered, feeling as if his stomach was in knots.

They walked on for a couple more minutes. "I believe you," Francesca finally said. "I don't think you put your name in the Goblet. Everyone wants a quiet year, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his mind feeling ransacked. He looked at Francesca and saw a tall, dark skinned girl who wore her box braids in a ponytail, and had stern hazel eyes. She was someone experienced, a callous in her palm for her wand to fit into. Harry had only just figured out that wands existed and was expected to go headfirst into daunting tasks. _‘I don’t stand a chance.’_

Ron lets bitter jealousy ruin a friendship while Hermione stays. Draco Malfoy convinced Slytherins a couple years ahead of him to create the Potter Stinks badges- _a few Galleons would be nice, wouldn't it, Warrington?_ -and he wore them like a peacock, chest puffed out hauntingly.

(They popped up around the castle, worn by Hogwarts students of all Houses. _House unity at last._ Viktor watched Harry Potter's own classmate come up to him to loudly tell him what cheaters ought to get, watched people from his own House practically disown him for not participating. He furrowed his brow and headed toward the library for some peace and quiet, and ran into Hermione Granger who was determined to help her friend.

"It's not fair!" she muttered furiously, carrying a stack of books taller than her. Viktor Krum nodded and followed her, three thick tomes tucked under his arms. He was not as quick as this _malŭk lŭv_ , but he wants to learn even more because of her. He makes sure none of his classmates is wearing a Potter Stinks badge and writes home about the strangeness of Britain and their laws. Their response is swift.

Karkarrof tells him that he'll win easily, don't worry. Viktor didn't become the youngest Seeker in the world by not worrying.)

Draco still taunted Harry with the bets his father and him made, and threw jabs at Ron's hand-me-downs and bushy hair and stutters. The school gossiped and spun rumor after rumor while Harry tried to keep his head down. 

Fleur raised her chin while repeating the same thing to her headmistress and everyone else. _"S'il participe, je ne,"_ she said and people took that, twisted and turned it. _That Veela girl isn't doing it because of Potter. How'd you think he got his name in? My bet is he bribed a teacher or something, he's rich. Ugh, we won't get any action because of that bitch Fleur. Cheaters! Spoiled brats. I heard Potter isn't doing it either, coward. Some Gryffindor he is. We don't claim him._ Fleur heard all of this and continued on with a head held high and a beast rippling under her skin. She has heard worse. Meanwhile, young Harry had third years from his House coming up to him loudly declaring that if he didn't participate they'd disown him from Gryffindor.

"Joking," one of them said when Harry furiously defended himself. "It was just a joke, don't cry about it mate." They didn't know how much pressure the whole thing was for Harry, whose skinny shoulders quivered but never fell ~~they fell~~ ~~when Ron didn't believe him~~ ~~.~~ They didn't know that the Wizarding World was still terrifyingly bright for him, and that brightness can be blinding. No one asked and Harry sucked in a breath of all his problems, never letting them out.

Others turned the news over in their hands. _Is this even legal? Seventeen is the age you became an adult? It's eighteen in the UK. Can you refuse to participate? Can you sue? I mean, they're putting their lives at risk here and one of them is a kid! That Veela girl has the right idea, in my opinion._

Dean Thomas and Justin-Finch Fletchley wrote earnestly to their parents about levitating wands, moving staircases, and the Tournament along with other first years. Round faced Sonia Khatri wrote about how Harry Potter, _the one who killed wizard Hitler_ , was in the Tournament and that he must have cheated. Sonia's father, an experienced lawyer, was horrified along with parents who thought Hogwarts was the safest place in the Wizarding World. He and Mrs. Khatri reached out carefully, carefully and miraculously found a group. The Magic Unites Group was founded years ago in the little town, and the members consisted of concerned parents who were Muggles and couldn't see their children until the end of the year. These were the parents who got news about magical schools from the staff via owl, and didn't need to dive for a dictionary when reading about Wendelin the Weird.

Soon, Dumbledore had to deal with protecting Nicolas's stone, trying to get Harry out of the Tournament, and dealing with letters from furious parents. "I knew that this year would be interesting, but not this interesting," he says to Fawkes, sighing. 

The parents who sent letters are the ones who don't stand by. Their children were far away, too far away, and hunters love to show off their new owls. Sometimes, children only tell them what they like to hear. They don't know that people looked down at Justin Finch-Fletchley when he confessed he was about to attend a Muggle school before getting his letter or that Professor Moody casted an Unforgivable on the fourth year (did he get an okay, did he ask?) Or that there were some students who believed that there should be bold lines drawn, dividing, pruning of old family trees. The parents didn't know and they despised it. 

The Magic United Group did not sit on their hands in 1906. Anna Weber's hands shook when her only son was sent off to a school she could never see or visit. They shook when they grasped at the sleeve of the professor, but her voice was steady when she said that if they thought she would sit back and let her child go off to a school she's never heard of, they've got another thing coming. She lept. Anna died of a brain tumor and her son, Peter, took over when his two daughters got their letters.

Back at Hogwarts, Harry nearly wished he was back at the Dursleys. Or somewhere else, really. Rita Skeeter wrote about a boy with tear-filled eyes wanting to prove himself, who embraced the blazing legacy his deceased parents left in both hands and wanted more, more, more. A young man who tasted adventure and decided that rules were for the stupid and the foolish. "I don't think that!" Harry shouted, storming away from her Quick Quotes Quill. Fleur felt like doing the same when her "Veela nature" was called into question and how her loving family felt about her not participating in the Tournament. The spotlight was never shined down on Viktor nor Francesca.

_S'il participe, je ne._ This is a choice Fleur made and she doesn't stick by it, she carves it in her bones along with her other choices. When she was younger, Fleur carved in a promise after promise because the world was filled with people who broke them like for fun. Her old "friends" broke promises because who cared about the pretty girl that could get away with anything? 

_Life is not fair._ Then, she will make it. When people whispered that there was nothing between her ears she snatched the top scores. A boy told her she couldn't run and Fleur beat him again and again, refusing water as sweat stung her eyes. A teacher said beginner's luck and she said luck. _Life is not fair._ Girls stare at her face, her hair, and claim they know her while boys (and men even when she was as young as thirteen) talked only about what went on between her legs. _Never go by looks alone_ people say, not even bothering to remember Fleur is a quarter-Veela and a proud Frenchwoman. _À vaillant coeur rien d'impossible._

"Why did you say you weren't going to compete?" Harry asked her after Ollivander and Skeeter left. Only the families were here and he tried to ignore the painful fact that no one was there for him.

Fleur looks down and sees a boy too young to taste despair, who doesn't need all of this nonsense. "I figured," she began. "That anything to do with putting children in danger is not worth my time."

Harry resisted the urge to frown deeply. "I'm not that young," he said. "You shouldn't have to not do the Tournament for me. It's not fair. Really," he added when Fleur began to shake her head. "You should get a chance to compete."

"As long as they keep you in the Tournament, I won't be in it. Have you not said anything to your headmaster?"

Harry suddenly found his shoes interesting. "I haven't, but only because I don't want to bother him." Francesca, who had been teasing her younger brother in Dutch, glanced up to see Professor McGonagol looking troubled.

Not everyone knew about parents sending letters and Howlers to both Dumbeldore and the Ministry of Magic, demanding that the Triwizard Tournament be cancelled lest a young student be gravely injured. Or that people were threatening to sue the Ministry for forcing a minor into a magical contract without any consent, and for doing a poor job of investigating how said minor's name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire.

Professor McGonagol summed it up like this: "Several people have reacted strongly to you being a Triwizard Champion, some going far as to sue. What we need from you, Mr. Potter, is a simple statement for everyone: are you going to compete?"

Now, what did Harry say? This boy, who only wanted a place to belong, for a true family, for a steady ground that wouldn't be yanked away. This kid, who had to deal with his first friend calling him a liar, people believing him a sham. He asked for a place of daring nerves and chivalry, and got it along with challenge after challenge. But, Harry held that weight on his shoulders and he never shrugged it off, only shifted for a better place.

Peeves the Poltergeist never thought that he would live the day to see Minnie get into a shouting match with Saviour Potty. He cackled, soaring through Mad-Eye Moody who was walking around a lot these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm not done.
> 
> -Cupcakes to those who know that Quirrel isn't on leave because of an illness  
> -I'm going to try and line everything up from book 1 and book 4. And yes, they did draw the names on Halloween and that is the same day the troll was in the dungeons  
> -Francesca's family is from Belgium but came to the UK when she was 10 for her mother's job. She has a younger brother named Adam who is a Squib and a year younger than her.  
> -No, I'm not typing out the accents bc that shit is wack  
> -Yeah, I kept Fleur and Viktor the same age in this story because I needed them to be chosen. Fleur as a champion would see a little kid being forced into a dangerous tournament and could only see her sister, whom she loves dearly. And thats why she protests bc she can't handel a kid being in this type of situation  
> -Viktor's and Hermione's relationship in this is, to me, adorable. Hermione doesn't care about this Krum guy, what even is a Seeker? I don't care I need to learn about wizard law because this boi is NOT dying under my watch. Viktor stumbles upon this tiny child plowing through books three times her size and thinks,"ok do not mess with her." He admires her determination to learn and help her friend, and feels determined because of her. If an eleven year old can find 8 books on law in this maze of a library, then he can face off his oponents and can win this tournamnet. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO ROMANCE BETWEEN THEM BC HERMIONE IS 11 AND VIKTOR IS 17 WHOSE ROLE MODEL RIGHT NOW IS A CHILD  
> -malŭk lŭv: small lion  
> -S'il participe, je ne: If he participates. I don't  
> -Seriously, DID Moody get permission to cast ILLEGAL SPELLS on 14 year olds??? Did no one bother to ask??? Say what you will about Albus but he loves that school and his students and he would NEVER let something like that happen in my opinion (then again he did let Snape teach even though a student said his greatest fear was a teacher he saw /every single day./)  
> -À vaillant coeur rien d'impossible: for a valaint heart nothing is impossible-Jasques Coeur
> 
> Aaaannnnd thats all I have. See you in the next one, scouts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry," Ron says as he and Hermione rush into the tent. "I-whoever put your name in that Goblet, I reckon they're trying to do you in."
> 
> "Wonder what gave it away, Ron."
> 
> "Boys."

Ron's face looked like he had been force fed a lemon when he ran into Harry in the dorms. He would have moved and went on with his day when Harry said in a low, furious voice, "I'm competing and I might die. Just so you know. So, I'd appreciate it if you could be less of a git to me." 

Ron stopped-Harry prepared himself for fists and kicks-and turned around slowly to display a gobsmacked face. "Are you mental?!" he said slowly.

_'Oh,'_ Harry thought as Ron approached him with warnings about the First Task. ' _Okay.'_ He and Ron walked to the common room side by side, catching up to what they have missed.

(Hermione thinks that Ron didn't apologise. She's wrong. He said it when the stars winked from above and a blanket was pulled over two heads as they chewed on licorice wands and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in the candlelight.

"I really am sorry, Harry. I just-I don't know I-"

"Hermione said that you were jealous."

"...She was right, no shocker there. The point is that I was the worst friend ever and I promise I'll never do that again. I'll make an Unbreakable Vow, too!"

"It's alright, Ron."

"No, it's not! I didn't stick up to you or Hermione, I ignored you, acted like a bigger prat than Malfoy-"

"You can _never be_ like Malfoy. _Ever._ He wouldn't have said sorry much less have the courage to."

"...You can have this pile. It's mango flavored, really good.")

As Harry and Ron drifted off to sleep on a pile of pillows, people were exploding in offices as they had to deal with the knowledge that the Fourth Triwizard Champion was officially competing.

The Magic United Group sent two representatives to the Ministry, bristling with righteous fury and piles of parchment. They had compiled enough information to cancel a magical contest. They met the heads of departments, officials, secretaries. Bones, Doge, Ogden, Umbridge, Hopkirk; names stick when you're throwing punches after punches. _We can't go against this type of contract, the magical bindings are-So you'd rather send a child into a dangerous situation? Break multiple laws? We don't want to do this, but tradition-Tradition should be put aside if it puts others in harm. Are you saying that our traditions-our way of life-is dangerous? We are straying away from the topic-He's already agreed and thus, officially is in the Tournament so I do not understand why we needed to be dragged from our homes at this hour-Perhaps Mr. Potter did not understand-_

"A very interesting year," Dumbledore mused to his coworker and Fawkes. Minerva sighed and resisted the urge to conjure up some whiskey. 

_The Daily Prophet's_ frontpage included a bewildered Harry Potter blinking up at them. There were two columns dedicated to how he was striving to become a wizard greater than any and carving a bright legacy, about Fleur "paying an unusual amount of attention to the young Potter." Snippets of "the bossy Hermione Granger" showed up because Rita always liked to stir hornet nests even when it was empty. No one is cruel enough to send an eleven year old girl curses, but letters can shout louder than Howlers when written with the sharpest quill. "Don't believe any of that rubbish," Ron strongly advised, pushing a cup of black tea into Hermione's hands. "They're just jealous that they aren't as clever and talented as you."

People approached Harry and few apologised. "Knew you were a Gyrffindor," a second year said. "Was worried you'd turn out to be a 'puff."

"I'd rather be a 'puff if it means your ugly mug isn't in my house," Harry shot back cooly. The people who sniffed and looked down on others because their traits-their strengths-didn't fit their world were fools, in his opinion. They were the ones who never could imagine what kindness and cleverness could do for others. _For_ others, not to. 

What the news did to Fleur was confronting Harry in an empty classroom. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, she cut an intimidating figure that made boys who used to stare scuttle away. But this particular boy met her gaze.

"Why?!" It was more of a demand than a question. "If you did this for me so that I can compete then you are the foolish boy I've ever met." Fleur swallowed, thinking of promises. "Don't you know-"

"That the Task is about dragons." When she didn't answer, Harry gave her a grin that was sprinkled with mischief. "I already have it figured out. Also, you can compete now!"

Fleur opened her mouth and remembers hearing people mocking Harry, of rumors being spread and rolled eyes, of the irritated looks from her friends and headmistress and family, of choices that you ink into your skin as a reminder, a refresher. She blows a strand of hair out of her face, gives Harry the angriest smile she can muster, and declares that he is the most frustrating person ever.

Suddenly, everyone was aware that the First Task was drawing closer. Hermione had Harry practice countless spells and jinxes while sending Ron to the library to check out books. Hagrid tipped a hint into Harry's already overflowing plate: training with the Quidditch Team because the captain was dead set on getting the House Cup next year, homework, ducking his hed to avoid the hisses and whispers. The invisibility cloak gave him solace.

(Yes, yes-some things are the same. The story still continues on because as soon as you opened it, you couldn't put it down.)

The First Task goes the same and Madame Pomfrey makes her appearance with a furious look on her face and potions. Essence of Dittany, Calming Draught, Murlap Essence, Burn-Healing paste. "Of all the foolish things to host," she fumed, healing with experienced hands.

"Harry," Ron says as he and Hermione rush into the tent. "I-whoever put your name in that Goblet, I reckon they're trying to do you in."

"Wonder what gave it away, Ron."

_"Boys."_

The scores were the same as before and with that, the trio walked away. These are the kids that walk with a purpose in their heels that are dug deep into the ground. That's why Hermione composes lists upon lists of things to tackle, why Ron pushed more plates towards his friends- _she_ was busy looking for more worlds to see and learn, _he_ kept on looking around the corner and getting his life flooded with unwanted obstacles-and insisted on breaks, why Harry tells them at every chance how much this and that means to him. Regardless of what is being thrown at them, they drag themselves out of the roaring current. 

Harry was suddenly being summoned after classes to McGonagall's office because people from the Ministry-the wizard government, Harry summarized-wanted to talk to him. Talk was putting it lightly; they asked the same questions other people had asked him. _Who do you think put your name in the Goblet of Fire? Why did you refuse to compete? Why did you compete? Did you lie? Cheat? Bribe?_ Rita, listening on the other side, gleefully spun tales about greed and "young Potter's chance at winning the Triwizard Tournament being threatened." 

Zacharias Smith huffed when Harry followed after the tail of McGonagall's robes. "Bet he's enjoying this," he said to his partner. "Being on the front page and causing all this fuss."

"You believe that he put his name in," said Neville, brows furrowed.

"It's pretty easy when you think about it," Zacharias began defensively. "Ask someone older to write your name and all. He probably-"

"-planned it," Dean repeated incredulously. "I don't think he did. You saw how he-"

"-did those tricks on that broom!" a third-year Ravenclaw exclaimed to her friends. Her eyes shone and her hands waved about. "Slicing through the air, I tell you! And-And it-"

"-doesn't seem fair," whispered Hermione, frowning at the stone ground. "You guys have the advantage because you're older and more experienced. Harry didn't know anything about the Wizarding World. And I've seen how busy and overwhelmed he gets." She looked up and Viktor saw a chin jutted out in determination. "The government should have handled this whole thing better. I'm positive something like this wouldn't have happened in-"

"-the Muggle world," Pomfrey vented to Sprout. "Young Harry has guardians that would prevent him from doing something as dangerous as this. Here," the matron frowned deeply with sad eyes. "He doesn't have any guardians." She thought of a boy forced to spend lonely, torturous nights at a shack, a student who was content with his three rambunctious friends. The laws against werewolves probably forced that same boy to struggle to live. 

(Remus knew about the whole business at Hogwarts. He read about it along with his cold tea and bagels, and fury washed over him. He saw what the Hogwarts Staff saw: Lily and Jame's son. But, he also saw his little Marauder whom he held gently, gently in his arms the day he was born. Remus changed his diaper when Harry's parents were busy, and he never knew making a baby laugh was the most delightful achievement in life. Peter snapped a picture of him tossing Harry in the air. When the bills pile high, the shelves chopped up for wood, the countless of hours (weeksmonthsyears) job search left him thinking of breaking the glass ball that was the world, when every time he saw his reflection he thought _shouldbelockedupwouldbethebestmonstermonstermonster_ or _youcouldn'tsavethemyoufailedthemgonegonegonegone_ Remus turned to that picture. That baby's grin was what made him grit his teeth and stick it out until morning and then the next and then the next-

They would never allow him on Hogwarts ground. "We don't want to take any risks," explains the Ministry official who had looked at Remus with fear upon seeing _afflicted by lycanthropy_ on his records. "Too many kids around. Sorry, mate."

_'No, you're not,'_ Remus wanted to scream. _'You think I should be hanged, shot, incarcerated. You think I'm like Greyback when really I've hated myself as soon as the Healer told me what I was. What I am.'_

_'That boy is family,'_ Remus wanted to sob and screech . _'He is my family._ I _held him, wiped away his spit, played with him._ I _made him laugh. To us, he was worth more than all the gold in the world and I knew I would die for this kid.'_

But, listen. He didn't. He just gritted his teeth behind a half-smile and went back to one of his jobs.)

Back at school, Francesca's friends made everyone get a more effective wake-up call when they opened the golden egg from the First Task at breakfast. "SHUT THAT BLASTED THING OFF!" Lee Jordan roared while Gregory Goyle let loose a string of curses no eleven year old should know. In Harry's opinion, it was a reminder that the Second Task was looming overhead and that he did not know what to do. He was too busy trying to find out why Snape wanted the Stone. Elsewhere, a house-elf who longed for the day he could wear something _he_ chose prepared dinner for his masters. Dobby heard about young master Malfoy complaining about Harry Potter, but if he tried to do something what if he was caught? And then he would have to iron his fingers again or Master Malfoy might _kill_ him, oh no, Dobby didn't want to die!

Elsewhere, Dumbledore was planning the Yule Ball with the other teachers. "But, Potter is too young," Karkaroff commented, twirling his beard between his fingers. "Unless he is already popular with the ladies." 

"There is that girl he talks to," Maxine said. "The one with big hair. Perhaps-"

"I'm sure that the traditions of the Yule Ball can be pushed aside," McGonagall interjected. She made a note on the parchment in front of her to contact the agent of the Weird Sisters. "It wouldn't be appropriate. Also, if word gets out that you two decided it was perfectly find to allow _an eleven year old_ to mingle with older students-some of whom have a penchant for causing trouble-then it would reflect _very_ badly."

They got the message. Minerva smiled thinly at them and left. Yes, there was a dangerous task for four unfortunate students along with the pressure of being the first in everything. Yes, there were the people who had been more vocal-she lost track of confiscating those Potter Stinks badges-and thought they knew more because of a newspaper. Yes, a lot is moving around too fast and you're getting whiplash, but one thing is for certain: those students will not come under harm.

(She tries her best, Minerva. She's stern and seems cold, but she became a teacher for a reason. There's a tin of biscuit for every student that she has reached out to, a letter or photograph treasured more than anything. Minerva looked at these kids (they'll grow up too soon and suddenly they're arrested or dead or gone) and decided, _'I will give you the very best.'_ So, she makes them practice again and again, gives and takes points, and remembers to buy ginger snaps and Jaffa cakes.)

"I feel bad that first years can't go to the Yule Ball," Harry said to Ron. "You could've had a chance with Fleur, and maybe she wouldn't have minded bringing a guy who's a couple heads shorter than her." He dodged the pillow thrown and ran around the common room, laughing with Ron in close pursuit.

Viktor turned to the only person who seemed to give the best advice: Hermione Granger. "The Yule Ball is coming up," he says as they walked to lunch, carrying her bag.

Hermione nodded. "I won't be here, I'm going to celebrate with my parents. Harry and Ron are going to stay behind, though."

"Well, I have to stay. My mother will be sad. Hermione, who do you think I should go with? You're clever," Viktor said and Hermione flushed pink. "Because you are clever," he continued. "I figure you have a good sense of judging people and making choices. So, here I am, asking for advice."

The eleven year old mulled over this before answering. "Well, don't bring someone just by their looks. That's just being shallow and you might hurt her feelings. And don't bring someone who only likes you because you're famous. Now, that is being shallow. Ask someone that makes you feel comfortable."

"Comfortable?"

"Well, you don't want to spend the whole time with someone you don't like. Then, you'll just be miserable. Try someone from the fifth years." 

Viktor beamed down at her as he handed her bag. "Thank you." After two days of searching-the first asked for an autograph, the next three talked about Quidditch all the time, the other one was just creepy-he asked a sixth year from Gryffidor, Samantha Wolf, after learning she was a good friend of Francesca.

Said girl had drawn herself up and informed Viktor to have her friend home before midnight in the deepest voice possible. Then, she went to the dorms to take in long, shuddering breaths because she was not about to cry. There were no crushes from her in all of her years, no letters smelling of her favorite perfumes or any scenarios featuring a celebrity before going to bed. _"Laat bloeier,"_ her mother said with a fond smile. _"Maar, je zult bloein in een lila."_ Young love. Francesca sucked in a breath of her troubles that tasted tart and said yes to someone in her year from her House who could do better than this cold, cold girl with no heart.

The grapevine grew. _I heard Leroy is taking Henry Namron. Damn, I was going to ask him. I always thought she was a-well,_ you _know. Fleur took someone from Ravenclaw. I wouldn't say no to her. Bet she won't say no if I showed her how soft my bed is, eh? Did you hear? What do you mean Krum already asked someone? Who?_ Her? _The one fat one? She's not fat, but she should lay off the pies. How much do you bet she cursed him 'cause you couldn't pay me to ask her out. Fucking hoe._ _Oh, Potter isn't going? Shame, it would've been cute to see him blushing right next to his new girlfriend!_

The younger students watched with envy as the fourth years and up walked by dressed to the nines; girls in ballgowns of shimmering silk, boys wearing ironed suits with cufflinks gleaming in the candlelight. Krum and Samantha were matching in their red evening clothes, and both animatedly danced and laughed the night away. Fleur, glowing in silver, laughed when she tasted Firewhiskey in the punch. Francesca in a sleeveless yellow dress put on a smile when her date kissed her cheek. At some point, all three Champions found themselves in a corner with a drink in hand.

"You both look amazing," Francesca said, watching McGonagall leading Dumbledore into a dance. 

"So do you," Viktor said, taking a sip of his drink. "Have you figured out the clue for the next Task?"

Fleur huffed, irritated. "No. The only thing I got was a headache. I'm not surprised that no one has figured it out yet." Catching the look on Francesca's face, she stared. "Did you-?"

"Kinda'." The Hufflepuff gave a small smile. "Don't tell anyone, but I found this room-it's enchanted, I think. Anytime I want to go for a swim alone, I always go there and it always gives me what I want. So, one night I bring the egg and it slips into the water-"

"And you found the clue," Viktor finished, eyes wide. "Brilliant!"

"Oh, it's nothing. I already told Harry about it."

"Is this not against the rules?"

"I'm sure we can forget about them for a moment." All three shared a laugh and felt, because of the drinks and the dancing and the crisp night sky and the music singing in the background, that anything was possible. They felt as if this is how they will always stay, their own Golden Age. But, there was Henry slipping an arm around Francesca's waist and she had to go and laugh like all the other normal girls. There were Viktor's friends dragging him to dance. There was Fleur, smiling and pocketing that little memory into a vial so that it wouldn't get lost.

Elsewhere, Harry dragged his father's cloak over him and tip toed over to the Restricted Area. He ran from the shadow of Filch and stumbled upon a mirror. On that Christmas Day, Harry saw his family for the first time. He came again and again because "you look like your dad, but you have your mother's eyes" is not enough to stop his dreaming, his what-ifs. What was being Head Boy and winning the Quidditch Cup compared to smiling up at his mother? Who cared about the mysteries of the vast world when Harry could finally tell his father about riding his first broom? (Years later, Harry would be struck by how young his parents looked, too young to lose everything in one night.)

Dumbledore told him,"Men have wasted away before it, not knowing if what they have seen is real, or even possible." It could have been possible. Harry could have woken up to a room and an actual bed, would have his father pushing more on his plate because he was looking too thin. He could have grown up hugging his mother every day, who would always kiss him goodnight even as he grew. He could have known about his grandparents, great uncles and aunts, cousins, friends of his parents, maybe even a little brother or sister. Harry drew his shoulders up, almost to his ears before letting them fall; they never shook.

Ron found him huddled in front of the fireplace and threw a blanket over his shoulders. "Scoot," Ron muttered, a tin of sugar cookies in his hands. He handed them to Harry and launched into story after story of his family, enough to make Harry snicker. Ron looked at this boy he had chosen to sit across from and thought, _'The world is out to get you, but I won't let them drag you down.'_

Neville, quiet because he feared someone would sneer at his words, tucked himself into a cozy corner in his room and read _Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants._ Professor Moody had handed it to him along with a large cup of tea. "You can find the answers everywhere," Moody explained, scarred hands waving about. "But, the answers _you_ want are in the places that suit _you._ No damn goblin looks into the woods for gold." Neville giggled because damn was a word Gran forbade even Uncle Algie to say. The young Gryffindor left the office, knowing that some students knew all about his parents. Sometimes, the knowledge that there were strangers that knew his parents better than him, their own son, made him angry. So angry that he wanted to break his wand-his _father's_ wand, Frank Longbottom, one of the brave ones-and tucked himself away in a pocket of rage. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to remember.

On the eve of the Second Task, Harry walked to the common room alone with a headache. He had Fred and George walk him to the Great Lake. "Wonderful day for a swim, isn't it," George said, bundled up in a scarf and hat.

Fred nudged Harry. "Just know, we're betting on you."

"I don't think we're allowed to bet, Fred."

"Okay, fine, we'll be praying for you."

"No church would ever let you two in," Harry shot back and grinned at the laughter from the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. It wasn't until he was with the other Champions did he realize his friends were nowhere to be seen.

Francesca grinned down at Harry, both of their nerves on end. Viktor twirled his wand and tried to remember the exact words for the spells he had studied. Before the signal went off, Neville had pushed past all of the students and thrust what seemed to be slimy worms into his hand. "Gillyweed," gasped out Neville. "It'll help you-trust me. Help-Help you breathe underwater-"

Harry, whose stomach was squirming as much as Gillyweed, shoved the plant into his mouth.

This is what Viktor found in the Lake: Samantha, looking lifeless and grey. (There had to be a friend for Viktor, a cousin. Instead, they chose a girl he only knew for a few days and already would miss. How lonely that must be.)

This is what Francesca saw: Henry Namron, his usually straight hair curly. All she could think was that this was not the person she would miss the most. To miss someone, you must first love them with your entire soul. No, Francesca would miss calloused hands, Adam's smile, her friend Ella's laughter and rants, Christmas lights, and the smell of freesia as a child. She bit her lip and dragged Henry up to the surface.

This is what Fleur saw: her best friend, Alice, looking peaceful as mermaids stood by. (Garbrielle was much too young to be in the Task. But, imagine if she was. Imagine little Gabrielle, tied to a rock at the bottom of a lake. Imagine her older sister seeing her and all rational thinking was thrown overboard because _what is she doing here she looks dead no she isn't she isn't she isn't don't you worry don't you worry not her not my sister._ Fleur would have burst through the surface of the Great Lake and screamed her fury at the judges. This was her sister, the one she swore to protect and love, the one she promised to hold her hand through every storm. Never doubt what Fleur would do for her sister, the person she would miss the most.)

This is what Harry saw: Ron, his eyes shut, bobbing in the water. He saw someone that was slowly turning into his brother and thought, _'I won't let them drag you down.'_ There was no Gabriele to save, but Harry did linger so that Fleur was there to rescue her friend. He's in third place with Francesca taking the lead and the Gryffindors throw a party complete with cakes and juices of all kind. "Don't," Hermione told Seamus in a tired tone when he offered to turn her drink into rum, really he's got it this time!

Still, the scar burned. Tom was stirring, rising from his unwanted slumber. Two-no, three people were making sure that the Dark Lord returned. No one noticed and that should raise alarm bells to any well-minded person.

Instead, lets focus on the Golden Trio. All three of them were hastily preparing for the exams at the end of the year, but of course they could stop by to visit Hagrid. They found Nobert and added another piece to the puzzle of the Philosopher's Stone while taking Ron to the Hospital Wing. Norbert had, fortunately, managed to bite his non-dominate hand and a letter for Charlie Weasley was written.

The mission was successful-for the dragon. Instead, four Gryffindors stood with their heads bowed down as their Head of House scolded them fiercley; a Slytherin watched from the sidelines, curled up in the candlelight. "Never in all of my years of teaching!" McGonagall exclaimed, eyes flashing dangerously. 

The detention was handed out, and four unlucky students were sent into the Forbidden Forest. Something awful drank an innocent unicorn's blood and Harry's scar burned. "It is a monstrous thing to slay a unicorn," Firenze explained and Harry thought of green lights, a cold laugh that pierced his dreams. Firenze spoke of innocence and Harry thought of kids thrown into dangerous places, kids who are so alone they feel it deep within themselves, kids who will never know something warm.

The stars aligned and some people let their shoulders bump against the wall behind them and watched. Firenze lept because that was in his blood, his bones: to leap and run and be as free as the wild winds of the mountains. Some could only dream of such things.

"You," Fleur says as she sits across form Harry at breakfast. "Are always in trouble."

Harry pushed his oatmeal around miserably and shrugged. 

Fleur paused in piling scrambled eggs on her plate and pursued her lips. "When you are older, you will find these problems are as little as ants."

"You wouldn't understand," Hermione said grimnly as a trio of fourth year girls sneered at her. "Points are everything here. And we just lost them."

There was a thump and Viktor was pouring himself orange juice. "If it makes you feel any better," he said as Ron started at the sight of his idol sitting next to him. "I heard there were four students that lost more than 200 points."

"You're joking!" Ron gaped. And then they were exchanging their own bits of gossip; even Harry managed to snicker at some of them while Hermione remained with her head down.

The trio still lulled Fluffy to sleep, tugged trapdoor open. Leaping with barely contained excitement and fear, these three managed to get through everything. Harry's reflection gave him the Stone and Quirrel crumbled.

(The fractured being of Voldemort fled, screaming in rage and pain. It-because when you break apart your soul too many times, you cannot call yourself human-managed to survive, and somewhere in a four poster bed a rat woke up.)

It was love from Lily that kept Harry alive. This type of love is chosen, never forced or expected. It is as natural as blinking, a love that screams _no_ and _not them_ and _I will always be there, so never ever doubt me._ Looking at a gangly, freckled boy eagerly telling him about the news about the postponement of the Tournament, and a bushy haired girl who checked in with Madame Pompfrey about when he had to take a potion, Harry thinks it wasn't just his mother's love that saved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -There's a reason why angst is in the tags  
> -Viktor to Hermione: I am once again asking for your finacial support  
> -Laat bloeier. Maar, je zult bloein in een lila: Late bloomer, But, soon you will bloom into a lilac  
> -Purple lilacs symbolizes first love and are used to recall young love. Francesca's grandfather had a vast knowledge of flowers and passed that down to his daught, Francesca's mother  
> -Yes, Francesca is aromantic. However, she is experiecing internalized arophobia sadly because she doesn't know why she feels this way. I hope I wrote that bit out good for everyone who is aro.  
> -James and Lily were only 21 when they were killed.  
> -'Types Dobby's bit smiling while tears stream down my face.'  
> -Freesia symbolise purity and innocence. They'll pop up later soon  
> -yo how chill is Charlie??? Bro gets a letter from his 11 year old brother about smuggling a baby dragon and manged not only to help but got his friends to do it. Charlie is a ride or die man  
> -yes the stone is saved but there's another way to bring back Riddle


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My sister is-was one of the people I looked up to. She was stubborn and nothing could change her mind about something. She was determined about everything. Getting the front row seat, the last slice of pie, loving her family and friends. Winning." He took in a shuddering breathe; his father gazed up at him with tears streaming down his face. "She annoyed me a lot, too. But, that's what big sisters do. Frannie was the best sister I could ask for and I hope you all remember her best moments. She-She hoped that, after she died, that people would remember her and be happy, and that's kinda' impossible because-" The lump in his throat swelled until he was choking on it. His mother dragged him back into his seat, hugging her (only) child tightly.

Somehow, the Third Task was right around the corner. A maze stood ready to swallow the four Champions, and a traitor stood ready to bring back his master.

Viktor will be cursed, Fleur will scream, and two Hogwarts students will grab the Cup. It dragged them into the graveyard where others lay waiting, waiting.

Harry saw Francesca die. She had reached for him, to push him away and now she stared at nothing, will taste nothing, and will breathe nothing. She had seemed as firm and unyielding as a mountain so how is it that her body lay limp on the ground? Harry stared at Francesca-at her dead body, _no no please don't die no please_ -and thought of unicorns and innocence. Of the crime and how blood will never leave your hands after you kill someone who wanted, yearned for life.

Peter-Wormtail, now-dropped a bundle into the cauldron. He avoided looking at Harry tied at the gravestone; this was the boy he held as a baby, the boy he fed when his parents were too busy, the boy who lost his parents because of him. Wormtail lost everything and gained everything. Gone was a family and now power that burned his veins and took his breath away. Now was saftey.

What did the Death Eaters think, being summoned and seeing Voldemort? What did Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy think when they saw the Potter boy tied up at the foot of the gravestone, looking as young as their own sons. Did Lucious see Draco in Harry's Hogwarts robes, his short frame, the wide eyes? Was Harry's age a shock to Nott, who had a child as well? These murdering, ignorant men who wore masks as easy as breathing did not look at the Potter boy.

(Later, Lucius will go home. He will bathe and eat and lay in bed with his wife, the same wife who stared and stared as he grabbed an all-too familiar mask. Lucius will ease himself out of the comforter and walk quietly to his son's room. Draco was still at school, in the Slytherin common room with his friends trying to understand what had just happened. His father will smooth out the creases of his bed with shaking hands and swear,' _No one will hurt you.'_ Lucius leapt and leaned back to watch at the same time in this story, and like so many other stories.)

Riddle welcomed his followers, sneered at them, vindictive. The old fool tried to stop him with his pawns and now he stood, stronger than ever. He spoke of himself as if he was the one who invented magic, not Merlin and Morgana; Slughorn would have cried. Riddle then looked at the boy that had managed to cheat death (like him) and saw a dark haired orphan (like him). A half-blood (like him.) Did he try and coax Harry over to his side, believing that power was everything? Did he promise Harry power beyond his wildest imaginations? 

Harry stared at the man who killed so many-Lily and James and Francesca and so many-and called him a liar. 

Lily told him to let go, and Harry let his shoulders buckle and heave _because Francesca was dead. "_ _Be safe, Harry,"_ she had said, wispy and translucent. _"Be safe."_

_(_ As soon as Harry started crying he couldn't stop. He's still sobbing when they drag him away from Francesca's cold body. He's still sobbing when he gasped out that Voldemort was back. He's still sobbing when Professor Moody steered him to the castle with a firm hand on the back on his neck. He's still sobbing until he starts piercing together what Moody is saying and Harry is reminded of why he doesn't sob or let his shoulders shake because then everything comes crashing down.)

This is what the spectators back at Hogwarts saw: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, sobbing and cradling the head of Francesca Leroy who looked too still. Emma Leroy stepped forward and felt something stutter to a stop and drop in her stomach. She breathed and felt like she was robbing her daughter of life. She stumbled forward and felt numb. Behind him, Adam was screaming. 

("Do you guys believe Potter?" Pansy asked in the Slytherin common room. They were huddled around the fireplace, clutching steaming mugs of hot coco; it had been a day since Potter came out of the maze with the dead body of Francesca Leroy. (No one mentioned how Francesca was a pureblood, like them. No one dared.)

Draco sighed. "He wouldn't joke about something like this-"

"But, he can't be back," Vincent interrupted. "No one's seen him for years, how can he just come back?"

"Probably because of Potter," Draco answered and Gregory held back a snort. For almost all of the year, the blonde boy had been ranting about Harry Potter. _Saint Harry Potter, thinking he's everyone's golden boy because he saved the world and stopped-_

Gregory knows that his father worked for the Dark Lord. Some nights when he got too deep into a bottle of scotch, Mr. Goyle would tell tales of Dark magic being used to cleanse the Wizarding World, of witches and wizards coming out of hiding and showing their true colors. These were the bedtime stories Gregory was told.

"If he's back," Pansy was saying, tapping on the arm of the sofa she sat on. "Then, do you think it'll be just like the first war?" _Do you think we'll be safe? Do you think we'll be fighting?_

Draco said nothing, but Gregory did. "Witches and wizards coming out of hiding and being on top?" he said, a smirk growing on his face. "Doesn't sound too bad to me." 

These are the kids that were taught about surviving. They learned names, lineage, and how best to hold their head high. If it means throwing a classmate under the bus or sneering down at others or cursing people, they'll do it. Some of them think they're leaning back in the sidelines, but really they've been leaping forward the day they could walk. _That_ is ambition.)

When Dumbledore stood up and talked about loyalty, Adam thought, _'Come on.'_

_'Come on,'_ he wanted to scream. _'Frannie was more than that. She was stubborn, determined. When she spoke, it was slow and careful because she thought of all the right things to say. She watched and learned, and became the best. Forget about loyalty. What about her strengths, her way of doing things with almost nothing around her? What about her jumping to conclusions and always, always holding a grudge. She never forgave me when I called her a bitch on her birthday or when our cousin hit her with a shoe. Come on.'_

He stood up, trembling in his black robes and buzzcut. The headmaster glanced at him and Adam spoke. 

"My sister is-was one of the people I looked up to. She was stubborn and nothing could change her mind about something. She was determined about everything. Getting the front row seat, the last slice of pie, loving her family and friends. Winning." He took in a shuddering breathe; his father gazed up at him with tears streaming down his face. "She annoyed me a lot, too. But, that's what big sisters do. Frannie was the best sister I could ask for and I hope you all remember her best moments. She-She hoped that, after she died, that people would remember her and be happy, and that's kinda' impossible because-" The lump in his throat swelled until he was choking on it. His mother dragged him back into his seat, hugging her (only) child tightly.

Pomona Sprout stood, dressed in mourning. Lower lip trembling, she raised her cup. "To Francesca," she said, remembering a young witch who dropped a bag of manure in class and was always, always knew the name of every flower.

Hogwarts echoed Sprout. Samantha Wolf's eyes were wet as she raised her own cup, remembering the ghost of Francesca's hand in her own and her laugh. Henry Namron stared in disbelief, trying to understand how that tall, beautiful girl in the yellow dress ended up in a coffin because it didn't seem real. Cedric Diggory shook because he had wanted to join the Tournament and that could have been him, dead on the ground. Percy Weasley sat with his brothers, staring at their faces and flinched at the idea of a world without them. Harry Potter's head was bowed down as he remembered how Francesca believed in him, how she had helped him with the egg, how her last words were,"Who are you?!"

Maybe they weren't. Maybe, when two wands connected and the victim's of Riddle came about, Francesca Leroy's last were,"Be safe." Maybe it wasn't just for Harry, but for her family and friends and teachers and the entire world because she knew what was going to happen next.

After the toasting, the Leroy family leaves to prepare the funeral. They didn't go back to their house in Cardiff, no, they went to Antwerp where Francesca and Adam had been born. Emma and Gabriel Leroy came back home with grief heavy on their shoulders and their daughter in a casket. Gabriel stood in the doorway and saw two-year old Frannie taking her first steps, Adam chasing after his sister, his daughter stomping upstairs after an argument. Emma stepped inside and saw crayon drawings of dragons and spilled chocolate milk and flowers in painted cans. Emma looked at her husband and thought, _'God, how are we going to do this?'_

(This is the same question that she said when had to ride her first broom, her first pregnancy. It was never answered and it didn't needed to be answered.

"I miss her," Emma whispered. She and Gabriel were sitting in their old room, huddled under the covers. She felt cold in this old house with golden memories now bittersweet.

She felt her husband nod and draw her closer. A thumb pressed against a not in her back. It said _it is ok_ and _I am here_ and _I've got you._ They fell asleep dreaming of their daughter, laughing with golden sparks falling from her wand. Happy. Bright. Alive. Loved.)

Two weeks passed, two hard and awful weeks for the Leroy family. Every corner had a ghost waiting. The day of the funeral, Adam broke down shrugging on his black suit and Emma's hands shook all throughout the day. Gabriel just sat and stared and stared, wondering if he was strong enough. Then, there's his older brother's telling him to eat. The aunts take over helping Emma get ready and stand with her. A gaggle of cousins surround Adam throughout the entire service. _"Ik mis haar ook,"_ one of them said soberly and rests her head on Adam's shoulders. 

They bury Francesca in the middle of the garden outside while birds sang in the background. The sky was a marble grey but the sun is warm as the casket is lowered. To Adam, it felt wrong to leave his sister behind like this: a headstone and freshly turned dirt. He wanted something more because Francesca wouldn't have wanted it like this. She would have wanted her family remembering the best of her, not weeping.

Emma went back with a basket of flowers that night. The stars were hidden behind clouds as if in mourning as well. Carefully, she decorated the grave with flowers. Pink carnations flanking the headstone, freesia spiraling outward. Next, came lilacs pressed at the front. Finally, a wreathe of gladiolus placed around the headstone because Francesca was strong. She grew up on stories of her great aunts and uncles serving in the army, of her own mother becoming a consultant despite her parent's wishes, of Adam getting into fights defending his one friend who wanted to paint his nails. She was blunt and so stubborn that it made Emma angry. But she was loved so much she gave that love to others.

Emma sat back on her heels, dirt on her robes and surveyed her handiwork. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel her daughter's arms around her calling her _mama._ There's this aching hole that she knew could not be helped. 

They decide not to move back to Britain; too many memories. Instead, Emma drifted around the house with an empty look in her eyes _(herdaughterisgoneshe'sdeadIshouldhavelovedhermore)._ Gabriel popped the cap off of bottles of beer because the pain was too much. At quiet dinners, Adam rambled on about old stories and memories. _Remember when we did this, what was our favorite hiding spot, over there we-_

His father snapped at him, telling him to hush up and suddenly they're screaming at each other. They're full of grief and anger and anguish and are hurting so, so badly that they are dripping, spilling like an overflowing sink. They want to remember, but at the same time it hurts. Emma stared at her pasta and clenched her jaw.

_"Dit help ons niet,"_ she said and silence fell. _"Ja, we missen Frannie, maar dit zou ze niet willen. God, we moeten gewoon praten. Wanneer hebben we voor het laatst gesproken?"_ Looking up and seeing those guilty faces filled Emma with almost impossible rage and she didn't know why. _"Does niet alsof we alleen zijn._ _"_ She stood, the scape of the chair the loudest thing ever, and hurried out of the room. Upstairs, in her bed she felt Gabriel and Adam climb in on either side of her. For the first time since she saw Francesca come out of the maze, Emma breathed.

How did Harry cope, this eleven-year old boy who is hurting constantly? The Dursley's never gave sympathy to him; they snatched it from him. Harry had to deal with his nightmares in Dudley's second bedroom, stuffing a balled-up shirt into his mouth because Uncle Vernon was already annoyed with Hedwig. There was no Hermione talking to him about survivor's guilt and no Ron to bring him down to earth. He can't go into the library because too many people have been warned about "that Potter boy." Instead, he pushes that memory into the deepest corners of his mind, but that doesn't mean he forgets. It follows him around, though.

Up in Ron's room, Harry reads all the mail Dobby stole. He finds some from his friends, one from Hogwarts, and a couple from Viktor and Fleur. They wanted to ask how he was, is he doing okay, that its okay to reach out and ask for help. There's one from Gabriel Leroy and Harry just stares at it, suddenly aware that Francesca was sixteen when she died. 

_I remember my daughter speaking about you during the Tournament,_ Mr. Leroy had written. _She admired your bravery but complained about how thick-headed you are. I just wanted to ask how you were. What you went through must be the most traumatic thing anyone has ever seen. It would be nice if we could talk with some tea and biscuits. Any time would be fine. If you can't, then that's fine, too._

Harry folded the letter carefully and tucked it into _A History of Magic._ He tells Ron about it late at night, nibbling on stollen fudge as they both read _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle._ "What do you think?" Harry asked, toying with a corner of the page.

Ron was silent for a moment. Finally, he said,"I mean-I think it would be good for both of you guys if you all sat down and talked. My Mum's brothers died in the war-the first one, when You-Know-Who was around-and I know she gets upset, but she still talks about them sometimes." He broke off a piece of fudge and popped it into his mouth. "It's up to you, mate."

Harry goes after second year with Mr. Weasley. Still shaking the nausea from Apparating, the two rang the doorbell to the Leroy's home. It's a modest looking houses with a brown roof and white chrysanthemums flanking the door. They were greeted by a tall, black man with cropped hair and tired eyes.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Mr. Leroy said in a thick Dutch accent. He escorted them into the guest room, waved his wand, and poured tea for both Harry and Mr. Weasley. "Is Earl Grey alright?"

"The only British tea you could think of?" Mr. Weasley asked, grinning. Mr. Leroy smiled softly and some of the tension in the room bled away.

Harry saw Francesca in her family. She once had her mother's braid and her eyes. She had had her father's chin and nose and humor. Adam was loud and slouched, so unlike Francesca's straight posture. The first time he saw Harry in the guest room he said bluntly,"What are you doing here?" He got a scolding from his mother.

"The first thing she asked me was if I was alright."

"That is my sister. Caring,"

"...She kinda' scared me. I mean, she knew more about magic then me."

"That because she always practices them. And by practice, I mean having me quiz her on spells and what they can do. Trust me, she's a nerd." Suddenly, he's telling Harry every embarrassing story he could think of, and then they're both laughing and Adam thinks, _'Is this healing?'_

His mother watches her son's breathing like it's the only hope she has and made waterzooi, and thinks, _'Is this healing?'_

The father locks up the liquor and throws the key into the little green bowl on the counter. He puts on _Toto le héros_ and while Emma pours butter on the popcorn, he thinks,' _Is this healing?'_

Here's the thing about healing: it's never easy. It is crying and raging and wondering, _'What if?_ ' It is drinking yourself into a stupor and reaching for the bottle again after waking up in the hospital. Its choking back and fighting the lump in your throat, and trying to take a step forward. Healing is not done alone; the world is constantly changing and burning. You cannot be Atlas, kneeling and bearing the weight of the world. You must be like Sparta, learning, and focusing your time and strengths on things that matter. There will be fallback, but you can't fall. You have to grit your teeth and dig your fingers into it, stubborn and strong as Francesca.

Here's the thing about healing: it doesn't end.

(Remember, it was warm when Francesca was buried. The type of warmth a home has when you walk in after a long, snowy day. Her family never forgets that. They take it and square their shoulders.)

The story continues on for Harry. He sends letters to Adam who writes back enthusiastically. Adam gets into carving and sends some of them. One is the Gryffindor crest for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Another is an ancient looking mushroom. "These are brilliant," Hermione says as she holds a tiny wooden hourglass in her hands.

When Harry sent a letter about Umbridge followed by Hermione's tiny scrawl, Adam squeezed his carving knife hard. He told his parents and his father sends Howlers while Emma continues on being a consultant. The Howlers fill the Minister of Magic's office with screeches of injustice and a war on the horizon because honestly? Fuck anyone who dare says that Francesca's death (murdermurdermurdermurder) was a tragic accident and the government who stuff their heads into the ground and the ignorant. Fuck everyone who isn't doing anything while his sister's murdered is running free.

("That-I don't think those are words," Neville says as he hands the letter back to Harry.

Ron reads it over Harry's shoulder. "Hey, I know these!")

At the Battle of Hogwarts, they were there. Adam stood in the Great Hall listening to McGonagall and feels something akin to fury burning inside of him. Outside stood his sister's murderer. Outside stood people who were about to turn a school into a war zone. He tapped into a special kind of rage-the one time when he saw people making fun of his friend for wearing make-up, when his uncle would make a snide comment about women, when his sister was killed and people said it was an accident-and casted Crucio on the first Death Eater he saw. Adam thought of the warmth on the day of his Francesca's funeral and screamed.

He fought, him and his parents with snarls on their faces. Somehow, Viktor Krum flew by on his broom while casting curses at any Death Eater. _'House unity at last,'_ Viktor thought bitterly as he saw students of all Houses crumpling and falling from green curses, and flew faster.

Fleur ran through hallways where she had been scared of the moving suits of armor and annoyed at Peeves the Poltergeist. She drew her wand, and blood was spilled on desks and chalkboards. Fleur felt claws pushing against her nails, and bared her teeth.

After Harry had caught Voldenmort's wand and Tom Riddle fell, Adam cried. He cried for the dead bodies in the Great Hall, for the crumpled forms and blood splatters-old and new-on the classroom walls, for kids too young to be fighting in a war, for lives cut off too soon. He sobbed and let himself be held in his father's arms.

(Sometimes, crying can be a relief.)

Cedric Diggory and Samantha Wold sat with the Leroy family, pushing food summoned by the teachers. "It's over," Cedric said into his goblet. He had been one of the students who attended Hogwarts when Snape was headmaster, stepping in front of first and second years and tagging the walls for the DA.

Emma Leroy shook her head, eyes stormy. "Not yet."

(Years after, there would be a memorial dedicated to the fallen. History books will tell their names, who they were. The books will say that Francesca Leroy was murdered; _'She was a bright witch,'_ Harry Potter said. _'She was already determined to win, but she cared enough for an eleven year old boy.'_ Somewhere, in Antwerp, Belgium, there will be a grave decorated with flowers, candles. A house a stones throw away is where the people in cloaks go. They knock and an elderly man with greying hair and calloused hands will answer it.

_"Hallo,"_ he'll greet, pulling out tea and biscuits; usually, it'll be Earl Grey. "Let me tell you about my daughter, Francesca."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -damn Harry REALLY can't catch a break  
> -Ik mis haar ook: I miss her, too  
> -Dit help ons niet. Ja, we missen Frannie, maar dit zou ze niet willen. God, we moeten gewoon praten. Wanneer hebben we voor het laatst gesproken? Doe niet alsof we allen zijn: This does not help us. Yes, we miss Frannie, but she wouldn't want this. God, we just need to talk. When was the last time we spoke? Don't pretend we're alone.  
> -Waterzooi is fish stewed in vegetables or a fish brother.  
> -Toto le heros is a 1991 Belgian film about a man named Thomas Van Hasebroek looking back on his life.  
> -Pink carnations: gratitude. Freesia: purity and innocence. Lilacs: first love. Gladiolus: strength and integrity  
> -JKR can fight me with that bs on how Slytherins didn't fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. Don't you dare tell me the seventh years weren't trying to help the younger kids escape while the sixth years fought against Tom Riddle.  
> -After the war, I imagine there would be a grand memorial for the people that were killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. And that people would make something special for Francesca.
> 
> And thats the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I'm not done.
> 
> -Cupcakes to those who know that Quirrel isn't on leave because of an illness  
> -I'm going to try and line everything up from book 1 and book 4. And yes, they did draw the names on Halloween and that is the same day the troll was in the dungeons  
> -Francesca's family is from Belgium but came to the UK when she was 10 for her mother's job. She has a younger brother named Adam who is a Squib and a year younger than her.  
> -No, I'm not typing out the accents bc that shit is wack  
> -Yeah, I kept Fleur and Viktor the same age in this story because I needed them to be chosen. Fleur as a champion would see a little kid being forced into a dangerous tournament and could only see her sister, whom she loves dearly. And thats why she protests bc she can't handel a kid being in this type of situation  
> -Viktor's and Hermione's relationship in this is, to me, adorable. Hermione doesn't care about this Krum guy, what even is a Seeker? I don't care I need to learn about wizard law because this boi is NOT dying under my watch. Viktor stumbles upon this tiny child plowing through books three times her size and thinks,"ok do not mess with her." He admires her determination to learn and help her friend, and feels determined because of her. If an eleven year old can find 8 books on law in this maze of a library, then he can face off his oponents and can win this tournamnet. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO ROMANCE BETWEEN THEM BC HERMIONE IS 11 AND VIKTOR IS 17 WHOSE ROLE MODEL RIGHT NOW IS A CHILD  
> -malŭk lŭv: small lion  
> -S'il participe, je ne: If he participates. I don't  
> -Seriously, DID Moody get permission to cast ILLEGAL SPELLS on 14 year olds??? Did no one bother to ask??? Say what you will about Albus but he loves that school and his students and he would NEVER let something like that happen in my opinion (then again he did let Snape teach even though a student said his greatest fear was a teacher he saw /every single day./)  
> -À vaillant coeur rien d'impossible: for a valaint heart nothing is impossible-Jasques Coeur
> 
> Aaaannnnd thats all I have. See you in the next one, scouts!


End file.
